


Shadow Work

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Gen, Swearing in Italian, Threats of Violence, Uncle-Niece Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 23:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2560229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sir Ardsley Wooster takes his niece out to India to visit relatives in Lucknow, only to find a terrifying piece of his past catching up with him at the most unexpected moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadow Work

“If Your Excellency would care to prepare for arrival,” said the diplomatic aide, with a little bow, “we shall shortly be docking at Lucknow.”

Sir Ardsley Wooster, Her Undying Majesty's Ambassador to the Wulfenbach Empire, returned a smile. “Thank you,” he replied, politely. He could not refrain from reflecting with amusement that this was only a very formal way of saying, “Sir, you had better finish your drink now”; the airship would dock at Lucknow whether or not he cared to prepare for it. But then, he had been a diplomat for a while now, and before that he had been a spy, and you got nowhere as a spy if you couldn't understand what people were really saying.

He still hadn't told his niece that.

Harriet Wooster was eighteen and had recently finished school. She was taking a year out before going up to Oxford to study mechanical engineering, and her mother had wanted to send her to a Swiss finishing school for that year to improve her deportment, as she put it. Her mother, however, had been no match for the combined forces of Harriet herself, her father and Uncle Ardsley, who were all of the mind that some overseas travel would be beneficial but deportment was quite unnecessary. And when Harriet discovered that her Uncle Ardsley had a period of leave coming up and was going to use it to travel to Lucknow and visit his relatives on his mother's side at long last, the matter settled itself. It was obvious from the very start that Harriet would accompany him. It was just a question of sorting out the details.

Sir Ardsley finished his drink and looked across at his niece, who was gazing intently out of the window of the dirigible. She was wearing trousers, but that was not so uncommon for young ladies these days; the Lady Heterodyne look had caught on. However, Harriet did not look a great deal like Lady Heterodyne. She had the Wooster build, tall and spare, with her father's prominent cheekbones; but she had more her mother's colouring, being quite fair with light brown hair. She kept her hair short for practical reasons. Although she was not a spark (much to the private relief of Sir Ardsley, who had too much first-hand experience of sparks for comfort), she was an extremely clever mechanic and spent much of her free time tinkering in the workshop she had constructed in a shed at the bottom of the garden at home. Her blouse was fairly feminine, but she was, as usual, wearing a waistcoat over it. Harriet liked waistcoats, and, though she had several of her own, was not above borrowing them from her male relatives from time to time. All in all, she had a tomboyish look about her, but that did nothing to put off the young men. One of the diplomatic aides had been gazing at her longingly for the entire journey, in the happy delusion that Sir Ardsley had not noticed.

“You won't be wanting the waistcoat when we land, Harriet,” he said, removing his own as he spoke. “It will be very hot. Hotter than anything we ever get in England.”

“Goodness,” she said. “You look half dressed.”

“I feel half dressed,” he admitted. “But this is not going to be a place where we can stick rigidly to British standards of formality, unless we want heat stroke. I'm hoping Uncle Rajesh and Aunt Priyanka will find us both something more appropriate to wear when we arrive.”

She frowned slightly. “I don't think I want to wear a sari. They look very pretty, but I can't imagine they are practical.”

“Then you could wear a salwar kameez,” her uncle suggested.

“A what?”

“I'm sure you'll soon see for yourself,” said Sir Ardsley, with a smile.

It _was_ hot. It hit them like a wall as soon as they stepped out onto the platform of the airship dock, a hundred feet or more above the sprawling city of Lucknow. Harriet gasped, and Sir Ardsley abandoned formality still further and hastily removed his stiff collar and cuffs. Rarely has a British Ambassador been seen in public in such a state of undress, but Sir Ardsley, normally the very epitome of propriety, did not care. When in Rome, he thought, and that goes ten times over for Lucknow.

A middle-aged man stepped forward, smiling broadly. “You must be Ardsley,” he said. “And Harriet. Welcome to Lucknow. It is so good to see you again after all this time.”

“Hallo, Uncle Rajesh,” said Sir Ardsley, returning the smile. “Yes, I think I was... two, wasn't I?... when you came to England. Isn't Aunt Priyanka here?”

“She is down on the ground, waiting in the jalopy,” Uncle Rajesh explained. “Where is your luggage?”

“The porters are bringing it now,” said Sir Ardsley.

“Very well. I will tell them where to take it. Excuse me.”

He bustled off. Harriet looked at her uncle. “That shirt thing he's wearing looks very comfortable,” she observed.

“It's a kurta,” replied Sir Ardsley. “And I intend to get hold of one for myself at the first opportunity. Did you notice the embroidery? A local speciality, if I'm not mistaken.”

“Some sort of shadow work, wasn't it?” asked Harriet.

“Yes. That is Lucknow chikan embroidery. A beautiful, subtle technique. I shall get a white kurta, then when I leave India I can still wear it as a nightshirt.”

“I can see where you and Father get your looks, too,” Harriet observed. “More Father than you, but I can still see it in you.”

Sir Ardsley smiled. “Yes; if I had a moustache instead of these whiskers, I could probably pass for a local. But I have no need to do that.”

Uncle Rajesh returned, still bustling. It appeared to be the way he naturally moved. “Very good!” he exclaimed, with great satisfaction. “All your luggage is now on its way down, and so shall we be. We don't want to be standing around here, especially not you, Harriet. You will get sunburn. We must get into the shade.”

He ushered them into the lift, which hissed and rattled and seemed to be even hotter than outside; it felt as though the steam which was powering it had escaped into the compartment. Still, it brought them to the ground quickly enough, and there was Aunt Priyanka perched in the driver's seat of the jalopy, smiling warmly and resting one hand on the main lever which controlled the engine.

“Aunt Priyanka!” Sir Ardsley called joyfully. “Good to see you. This is Harriet.”

Harriet bowed as she greeted her great-aunt. She always did this, arguing quite logically that one looked a fool trying to curtsey in trousers. Uncle Rajesh ushered Sir Ardsley into the jalopy, but Harriet hung back.

“Ooh,” she said. “Great-Uncle Rajesh, did you know you've got a steam escape here?” She pointed. “I can fix that, if you like. In fact, if you wouldn't mind, I'd love to take a closer look at this thing. I may be able to make some improvements.”

“She can,” Sir Ardsley confirmed. “But don't panic. She's not a spark. She's just an excellent mechanic.”

Uncle Rajesh laughed richly. “I am not usually panicking about sparks.”

“I... did have the privilege of working with the Lady Heterodyne for a while,” said Sir Ardsley, carefully.

“Oh, yes, of course. I was forgetting. Well, that would be why you might think I am panicking, then.”

Aunt Priyanka drove the jalopy through wide streets lined with trees, most of which were quite unfamiliar even to the massively well-informed Sir Ardsley. Harriet was fascinated, and insisted on learning their names from Uncle Rajesh: shisham, neem, ashok, babul, gular, and...

“Oh, I think I know that one!” she exclaimed. “That must be a mango tree. And is that a monkey in it?”

“Yes. There are quite a lot of them here,” said Uncle Rajesh. “And they can be cheeky sometimes. Don't leave food too close to an open window. They can just slip their hand in like that and grab it.” He made a quick illustrative gesture, his eyes twinkling.

She laughed. “And I thought the pigeons were bad in London.”

“You live in London?” asked Uncle Rajesh.

“No, but we go there quite often,” Harriet replied. “I don't know if you'd like it. It is very grey compared to this.”

“It has its own charm,” said the patriotic Sir Ardsley, who was privately considering that London's greatest charm at this precise instant was the temperature. As well as the kurta, he had made up his mind to get himself a pair of loose cotton trousers; the ones he was wearing at the moment were sticking to him most uncomfortably.

Uncle Rajesh and Aunt Priyanka lived in a spacious bungalow in Aminabad, and, thankfully, it was somewhat cooler inside. The walls were thick and the windows well shaded from direct sunlight by broad overhanging eaves. There was also a steam-powered fan system, which helped a little. Rather to Sir Ardsley's surprise, they had a clank servant, who arrived to unload the luggage from the jalopy.

“Oh, you can buy them,” Aunt Priyanka explained. “It is not necessary to be a spark. Sanjay is very good. We've had him for... how long have we had Sanjay, Rajesh?”

Uncle Rajesh stroked his moustache. “Maybe four, five years? Anyway, yes, he is a good clank.”

“And you will want something to eat and drink,” said Aunt Priyanka. “Come and sit down and rest where it's cool, and I will see to that.”

After the meal, Sir Ardsley asked if it might be possible to borrow something more suitable to wear. “I shall, of course, have to go to the British Embassy and greet my counterpart at some point in the very near future,” he said, “but, even so, I am not going dressed like this. It is a mere courtesy visit, after all. I am on holiday.”

“I have a very nice kurta that you can have, because it is too small for me,” replied Uncle Rajesh.

Aunt Priyanka smiled. “That is because you are eating too many gulab jamun.”

“And there is nothing at all wrong with that,” said Uncle Rajesh, with a grin. “I am not wanting to be thin. But I thought I would not put it out, because you would probably be needing it.”

“Have you anything I could wear, too?” asked Harriet. She glanced doubtfully at Aunt Priyanka, who was not only somewhat rounder than she was, but also a good deal shorter.

“No, but we can soon put that right,” said Aunt Priyanka. “There is a market near here. It opens until very late, because people like to do their shopping in the evening when it is not so hot. We will go there and find something for you.”

“Uncle Ardsley said I might like a salwar kameez,” Harriet ventured.

“That is what I am thinking, too,” replied Aunt Priyanka. She herself was resplendent in a purple sari. “You will have plenty to choose from.”

“In that case, it seems sensible that I should pop along to the Embassy and get that out of the way while you two go to the market,” suggested Sir Ardsley.

“That is quite a long way from here,” said Uncle Rajesh. “If you like, I will drive you.”

“That would be very kind, Uncle Rajesh,” replied Sir Ardsley, “but I should quite like to walk back afterwards. There is some really wonderful architecture in this city. I should like to have a preliminary look at it. I'm so glad I thought to bring my sketching things.”

Uncle Rajesh's old kurta turned out to be a great improvement on his English shirt; it was indeed very nice, and showed no obvious signs of wear, though Sir Ardsley still privately resolved to buy a few of his own as soon as he got the chance. As for the trousers, he was stuck with those, in a rather more literal sense than he was quite happy with, for a little longer. Uncle Rajesh was shorter than he was, as well as wider, and had no trousers that would not look ridiculous on Sir Ardsley. Still, the kurta was something.

The visit to the Embassy turned out to be a brief enough formality; the two Ambassadors had not previously met in person, but, nonetheless, it was expected, and so it was done. Sir Ardsley was rather pleased to see that his counterpart was also wearing a kurta, albeit a much more elaborate one. He did, however, take some pains to assure Sir Ardsley that this was a thing he only did during the height of summer, and for the rest of the year he dressed with complete propriety.

That rather depends, thought Sir Ardsley, on how one defines propriety. As far as I can see, the definition in Lucknow is not the same as that in London, and nor should it be.

Once that visit was concluded, he set off walking back towards the bungalow. He had an excellent sense of direction, so he had no worries about finding it again. Now that evening was drawing in, it was starting to cool down just a little; there was still every sign that it was going to be far too hot to sleep properly, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. He lingered now and again to gaze at some of the sights. The Mughals had left some quite stunning buildings as their legacy.

He was well into the Aminabad district, probably not much more than a mile from the bungalow, when a voice behind him chilled all the blood in his veins, despite the heat.

“Just keep walking,” it said. “Act normal. Don't cry out. No sudden movements.”

He knew that voice. Oh, how he had hoped never to hear it again.

“DuPree,” he said.

“Ohhh, you remember me! How touching.”

He kept walking, not daring to turn his head. He could not feel any weapon poking into his back or his side, but that was hardly necessary. She must have known he would recognise her voice, and once he knew who it was, he would take it for granted that she had a weapon pointed at him. Probably several. Was it the gun this time, he wondered, or the cutlass? Or something more discreet, perhaps a knife? One thing was certain; it would not be long before he found out.

“I thought you were in Italy,” he said.

“Oh yeah. I forgot. Of course. You know everything.” He could hear the evil smile in her voice. “But you didn't know I was here, did you?”

“No, I didn't. I hope you didn't come all the way here to kill me. It seems somewhat out of your way.”

“Oh no, you're not worth that. You were just a little piece of luck that came my way. I'm here visiting some relatives.”

“Curious,” said Sir Ardsley. “So am I.”

“Oh, colonialists, I suppose,” she sneered.

“No. Actually. They are Indian. Real Indian.”

“Well, _that_ I didn't know,” she admitted. “But it won't save you, all the same. You got away from me once. That's something I don't forgive.”

“I didn't know you ever forgave anything,” he countered.

“Still the smart talker,” she said. “And that won't save you either. You're a dead man walking, Wooster. The only control you've got left is over how you die. If you're nice and co-operative, it'll be quick. Well... fairly quick. I have got a grudge against you, after all. If you're not...” He heard the dreadful smile again. “Then I am so going to enjoy myself.”

“Yes, I can see why you and Gil eventually fell out,” he muttered.

“Gil, is it, now?”

“Yes,” said Sir Ardsley. “We're friends again. Which is helpful, since I am after all now Her Undying Majesty's Ambassador to his empire.”

“Ohhhh! So I should call you Your Excellency,” she said, mockingly. “Pity Her Undying Majesty can't make you... undying.”

“I thought you wanted me dead,” said Sir Ardsley.

“Oh, but if you couldn't die, just think what I could do to you!” she exclaimed, happily.

“You're a psychopath.”

“So? If I am, that's really not my problem. Right now, it's yours. Turn right. Down this alley.”

He knew he was dead whatever he did. He briefly considered trying to make a break for it. But, no; the longer he could stay alive, the more chance there was that someone would see what was going on and intervene. He obediently turned down the alley. It was starting to grow dark.

He reached the end of the alley. “All right. Turn round. Back up against the wall and put your hands in the air.”

He did. There she was, just the same as ever, except that her normally inevitable red sweater had been replaced by a light silk top more suited to the conditions; she wore a smart white jacket, loose trousers and a naval hat, and her jet-black hair fell in heavy, glossy waves about her shoulders. She even still had that skull bindi on her forehead.

She smiled like a drawn sword, hefting the cutlass in her hands with gleeful anticipation. “Ah, Wooster,” she said. “I've been waiting for this moment so long. Now, you know I said I'd give you a quick death if you co-operated?”

“You did,” he replied.

The smile grew even more pointed. “I lied,” she said, softly.

He swallowed. Words, for once, completely failed him.

“Now,” she said. “I wonder. What shall I do to you first? I usually go for the eyes in a situation like this, but I think in _your_ case I want to save them for a little later. You know, when you're too exhausted with pain to look frightened any more. Right now I'm kind of liking the terror, you know? It's a good look on you.”

“Why does everyone say that when they're about to kill me?” he managed.

“Oh, it's a compliment. You do scared so well,” she purred. “H'mm. I like your kurta. Take it off. It would be a pity to get blood all over it.”

Sir Ardsley was on the point of obeying when he saw something over DuPree's shoulder which added to his terror. He had not even thought that was possible. It was Harriet.

_No_ , Harriet, he thought desperately. No. Turn round, run like hell, and get some help. You cannot deal with this woman. She is not some twopenny dacoit. She is probably the most dangerous person I have ever met in my long and sometimes unnecessarily interesting career, and she will squash you like a fly if you come any closer. No heroics, Harriet. Please. _Please._

He did the one thing he could do: pretend not to have seen her. Taking off the kurta as instructed was, as it happened, an excellent way to do that. With the kurta over his face, DuPree could read no betraying eye movements in it. And, consequently, he did not see what happened next.

Neither did DuPree, but she felt the air movement. She turned swiftly, just in time to dodge a very large ripe mango which had been aimed squarely at the back of her head. “What the hell...?” she began.

All Sir Ardsley's old reflexes kicked in out of sheer panic and desperation. DuPree's eyes were off him only for a moment, but it was enough. He reached into his pocket, whipped out his gun (had DuPree really not seen that? - no, of course not, he realised, since the kurta was so long and loose), and shot at her hand as she raised the cutlass. The pirate gasped in pain, and the cutlass clattered to the ground. Harriet moved swiftly and gathered it up.

“I'll get you!” snarled DuPree.

But, no matter how good she was, she could not take on two opponents coming at her from opposite sides. She had, of course, another blade, which she whipped out with her good hand; had Harriet tried to take her on in a sword fight, the consequences would have been disastrous.

Harriet had a great deal more sense than that. She sent DuPree's cutlass spinning away up the alley, out of its owner's reach, then reached into the basket on her arm and threw another mango. DuPree sliced through it in the air, but it wasn't just the mango that was flying at her. Sir Ardsley cannoned into her from behind. Just for once, he had an opponent he outweighed, and he was using that effectively. She went down in a heap, scything at him, but he was still firing to disarm her. The other sword fell from her injured hand.

_“Scimmione,”_ she spat. _“Stronzo bestiale!”_

“Would you mind?” said Sir Ardsley. “My niece is present.”

“Oh, that's who she is,” DuPree growled. “I might have guessed. And I suppose she knows Italian.”

“You be quiet,” said Harriet. “I've still got some mangoes.”

“You don't know what I've still got, little girl,” DuPree threatened.

“I can guess,” replied Sir Ardsley, “but I can also guess your hands hurt too much to use them. Besides, there is the small fact that I am sitting on you.”

“I suppose you're going to try to kill me now,” said DuPree.

“Certainly not. I'm not a pirate like you. I am going to hand you in to the local constabulary.” He rose carefully to his feet, still aiming his gun at her. “Up.”

She tried. “I... can't.” Her face was like thunder.

“Oh, yes. Harriet, help her, please, but do it extremely carefully. She is the most dangerous person you are ever likely to meet. She will have concealed weapons.”

_“Va' all'inferno, puttana,”_ DuPree snarled, as Harriet hauled her to her feet.

Harriet slapped her face. _“E' qui l'inferno, dove sei tu,”_ she retorted. _“Non intendo rimanere.”_

“I did warn you, DuPree,” said Sir Ardsley.

“I. Will. Kill. Both of you. I will kill you so messily that they won't know which bit belongs to who.”

“Whom,” said Harriet. “And you won't, because your hands hurt. Come on. You ought to be very glad Uncle Ardsley isn't going to finish you off, because you've given him every reason.”

Sir Ardsley picked up the kurta. “Just hold the gun on her a moment, please, Harriet. I'm going to put this back on. I'm happy to dress in a more relaxed way here, but there are still limits, after all.”

Harriet did so. When her uncle was properly dressed again, he resumed possession of the gun and they walked DuPree to the nearest police station. It was not far. They were there for quite a while making statements, but it appeared that DuPree's reputation was known even in Lucknow, and she was already wanted for other crimes. By the time they eventually left, an armed escort to Delhi was being prepared for her. It seemed that the Lucknow police did not want to deal with her for any longer than they absolutely had to.

“So,” said Harriet, as they finally left the police station. “Better stop by the market again and get some more mangoes. What a waste that was, but it was the only weapon I'd got.”

“You shouldn't talk so lightly, Harriet,” said Sir Ardsley severely. “You did extremely well there, and you were very brave, but even though you saved my life through it, I wouldn't be doing my duty to you if I didn't tell you that you were also very stupid. If you ever see anything like that happen again, whether it's to me or anyone else, the correct thing to do is to run and get help. You should never try to tackle an armed attacker on your own. Especially not someone like Captain DuPree. And, for the love of all that's holy, with a basket of mangoes?”

“Oh, but Uncle Ardsley,” Harriet protested, “all I had to do was distract her enough to take her eyes off you. I knew you'd have a gun and would do the rest.”

His jaw dropped. “You... _what?!”_

“Well, you always told us you were some kind of diplomat before you were Ambassador, didn't you?” she continued. “But you were really a spy. And spies make enemies. If I hadn't been quite sure of that before, this business would have convinced me. You knew that woman. You knew her name and how she was likely to be armed. You don't get to know people like that if you're just swanning about in the Diplomatic Service.” She paused. “And you don't stop having enemies just because you stop being a spy. You'd be armed.”

Sir Ardsley stared at her. “Sweet... lightning... Harriet.”

She grinned at him. “You do look funny when you're shocked, Uncle.”

“Yes... but...” He struggled for words. “Harriet, I pulled the wool over everyone's eyes for a very long time. The only people who worked me out were the Wulfenbachs, and even they didn't do it completely; I still managed to get some very important information indeed out of them, even after they discovered who I was. How in the world did you work it out?”

She laughed. “Oh, Uncle Ardsley,” she said. “You should have _seen_ the stuff you used to leave out of your letters!”


End file.
